Unbroken
by KrazyAnimefan
Summary: The Rit Zien Arrendriel once fled from heaven. His vessel is Heath Clarence Wainwright, the decendant of one of the oldest blood lines when it comes to hunters. On his hunt he makes friends with a skinwalker named Jonathan Meltzer. Their friendship is tested when the duo meets the Winchesters and Castiel who recognizes the angel.
1. Prelude

1983.

The woods were lovely dark in front of the row of windows in the living room of Wainwright Mansion. A family whose ancestors had been hunters for centuries, and whose cellar was full of weaponry and books, full of the profession.  
But Keith and Mary-Anne Wainwright quitted the hunt to protect their children, their older daughter Maria and their younger son Heath Clarence.

It was late that night in mid-july when suddenly a whisper awakened Heath: "Heath, come to me.." The teenager slowly got up, walked barefoot towards the door of his dorm room, leaned shortly against it. In his hand was a knife he always kept under his pillow, although his parents had tried to loosen his grip on hunting. But he was young, wanted risks but not safety. How wrong he was.  
He heard screams, then silence, steps. His hands trembled, he was numbed by fear. But his will to hunt drove him into opening the door and staring into the grown old face of a man, he had sharp teeth and also pierced Heath with a terrific look. "Come to me...", the man lured with his older sister's voice. The human moved thrilled backwards, grabbing the knife hard. The man moved forward, leading Heath into a corner of the room, there was no chance to escape.

All at once the TV powered up and the noise broke the frightening silence and lit the room a little up in a grey light. The monster in front of Heath crooked but the youngster only heard a pure and unearthly voice, repeating his name. _Heath... You are weak, little human. But I can cure your illness. Just let me control your body. Your grief is my source of power. Just say yes._ Light was now filling the room, brighter than Heath had ever seen, and he protected his eyes with his hands. "Who are you?!", he shouted into the light, closing his eyes. _I'm an angel of the Lord._


	2. Join the Hunt

Today.

"Heath..." he started up from his sleep just to see Jonathan leaning above him, "You had another nightmare?" the skinwalker sat down besides the hunter who sighed. "I stabbed a knife in its neck and still it tortures me every night. Damn Crocotta." Although 'Heath' was only his vessel, Arrendriel felt his pain and his nightmares were also nightmares for him. Jon knew he was angelic possessed, but he kept following him like a good dog. Well, he was one, apparently a Doberman, and since Heath had spared his life the skinwalker was his loyal companion.  
Heath's heartbeat started to become more steady and he sighed another time, staring through his friend for a moment. "We should drive on, I've found an interesting news paper article.", Jon said, and gave the news paper to the hunter, trying to sidetrack him a bit. Heath held it up and skimmed a few paragraphs, then he yawned and climbed from backseat to the driver's seat in the pick-up, waiting whether Jon would join him, but he transformed into the Doberman and took another nap. To tease Jon, Heath turned up the volume of the CD they had heard last evening and began to sing while they drove down the road to New Trier, Minnesota.

"Excuse me, Sir, Special Agents Grimson and Smith." Both of them showed their FBI badges and the Deputy in front of the crime scene let them pass. While Jon looked around to maybe get the scent of the monster who did this, Heath walked over to the Sheriff to get further information. "The third murder like this, we don't have any idea who did this. All victims are torn apart like this one, but there are no claw marks, the murderer must have fun by torturing these people." Heath didn't listen so well, because he looked at the dead body, kneeled to take a closer look. "Anything is missing?", he asked, he thought of a Werewolf, but the Sheriff couldn't help him. "Thank you, Sheriff Longburry. We stay in contact." Jon and Heath went back to the pick-up. "It's nothing I know.", Jon moaned and the hunter nodded. "No Werewolf and so far nothing I know either." they had to start from zero. "I go to the local library, you visit the coroner." it was decided and so Heath went down the street to find the library and Jon drove Heath's pick-up to the coroner.

"No local myths. Whatever it is, it's nothing from here." Jon nodded, then added: "The coroner found nothing else, but he said the victims didn't defend themselves actively, it must have torn them apart quickly and it would also imply they knew their murderer. So, super strength, maybe also super speed." Heath sighed.  
"Couldn't it be a ghost too?", he guessed, but ghosts usually were connected to a place or object. It would make no sense to search for a ghost.  
"Any links between the victims?" Jon took out his small booklet, read out his notes: "Jenny Gemsly, a local shop owner, mother of a teenage girl. André Salazar, business man from Virginia. And today's Henry Collins, a student. They never have met each other more than eye contact or a few words, I guess. There is no pattern, and it does not seem to have a specific type." Heath didn't hide his disappointment, mumbled a curse and looked around, they were standing in front of the bakery where Jon had bought his snack, a small pack of donuts.  
Heath would eat one too, but he didn't taste it the way humans (or better mundane species) tasted it. Also he didn't need to eat, and even did not need to sleep, but most of the time the angel sat on the backseat and let Heath drive, so that the vessel could just use the advantages of this possession.  
The skinwalker continued: "We have no chance to detect its next prey, so maybe we could use our time to look for other cases similar to these here, in other counties or states." Heath agreed, keeping the idea of a ghost still in his mind.

Jon was right, the murderer drew a blood-red line throughout the states. But still there was no specific hint on the species the two hunted. Additionally there was one thing that bothered Heath: "When I called the guys in Florida, they just asked me whether FBI-agents don't communicate. Seems like other hunters pay attention to that case too." Jon nodded, sighed and then yawned. "Let's go sleep..." Heath grinned, thinking that, if somebody needed sleep, he would be this one -all Jon did during their journeys on the road was sleeping. "Good, we can continue tomorrow."

Tomorrow came quick with the call of Sherif Longburry; another guy died. "Gilbert Whitherman, High School teacher, no family, widower.", declared Jon while they drove to the crime scene. When they arrived, two other men in suits strayed around the dead body. It was torn apart like the others, but for Heath it was of low importance. More important were the two strangers. "Agents.", said the taller one, Heath responded: "Colleagues." They regarded each other suspiciously, then concentrated on the crime.

Later the four met in a diner. "Anything else important that the coroner found?", asked the taller man with brown waves of hair caressing his face in a rather sweet way -although he wasn't, Heath had to remind himself who sat in front of him: the Winchesters. Jon answered the question for him: "No, it's like the others. No claw marks, nothing missing. It's nothing we know." Sam Winchester nodded, and his older brother Dean showed us a voice mail on Henry Collins phone. It was from another man who pretended to had gotten out of prison and was looking forward to seeing Henry. "The problem..", said Sam, "..is that this guy, Nikolai Graham, is still imprisoned and waits for his lethal injection." Suddenly an itching pain in Heath's neck sidetracked him, as his thoughts began to fly. A guy called by a person impossible to call. Torn-apart bodies. No defense. "They didn't know their murderer, they knew his voice. It's a Crocotta." The Winchesters nodded, Jon raised his eyebrows. "Do you have experience with that kind of monster?" Heath nodded, "It's a long time ago, but I still know how to kill it." Sam Winchester stroked his clean shaven chin, proposed they should search in the canalisation. The four debated a time for their hunt, then their ways parted.

With Jon's good nose Heath and him found the Crocotta's hideout faster than the Winchesters did and Heath took out his knife, tensed. Jon shut his eyes, but the stinking garbage and rat fecals covered the scent of the monster. Not even in his animal form Jon could find him. After moments of silence there was a cunning laughter, and for a moment Heath asked himself, if it was his father's voice, but when the Crocotta began to speak, he was sure it was only Nikolai Graham's voice, but still his hands began to shake a bit. He didn't listen, looked around to find the monster. "C'mon, show your face to me like a man!", grumbled Heath, grabbing the knife harder. "I'll show you the face of the monster..~" Heath heard the grin and turned around, began to attack the Crocotta, but it was too fast. When a Doberman jumped at the Crocottas chest, Heath had a moment to convince himself he could do that and needed to safe his companion who was thrown against a wall and lay on the floor whining. He approached to the Crocotta, overwhelmed it and pushed the blade again and again into its neck until he saw at the edge of his view Jonathan transforming back. "Heath stop!", he murmured when he came over to him and pulled him away from the dead body. Heath recognized he almost beheaded the monster, and he realized, that the Winchester brothers were staring. He shook Jon's hand off his shoulder, returned to the body and took out his knife. The adrenaline of this overkill rested in his veins -especially as Dean Winchester pressed a knife against Jon's cheek and the skinwalker gasped. "S-silver..!" it burned its way through his skin, the only thing that ever could. "Let go of him!", Heath growled angrily, pointing a gun at Dean. "He's a skinwalker, isn't he? We saw him transforming. Didn't you know?", Sam Winchester voice was tender, but the anger stayed in Heath's face. "Hell, of course I knew -I spared his life quite a while ago. Let go of him, or I won't hesitate to shoot your stupid ass!" Dean stopped torturing Jon when Sam nodded in his direction. "He's very useful and he's my friend." Heath put down the gun and went over to Jon, looking at the wound. They hated the Winchesters since they seemed to be chosen for some higher thing and even made friends with demons, or angels, but mostly the hate came from envy. "One stab would have been enough." Dean knelt in front of the dead Crocotta. "Non of your business.", Heath murmured, "It's my family's." He left the Winchesters in the hideout, Jon followed him -demonstratively transforming into the Doberman. But although there was any reason for it, Heath still felt uneasy. It had been too much. "How's your cheek, Jon?", he mumbled, forgot that he was now the dog and couldn't answer. Steps behind him forced him to turn around -Sam Winchester came to a halt right in front of the two other hunters. "Can we exchange numbers? In times like this, it could be useful to know other hunters." "Thank you, I know pretty well who you are, Winchester.", Heath said with a cold tone, then handing over to the taller a business card.

"The Wainwrights were a family of hunters which disappeared in the mid-eighties.", Sam Winchester sighed, "What sursprises me: The only dead body not found in their mansion was their son Heath Clarence. Apparently this hunter we met, the one with the skinwalker, uses his name. That's quite misterious..." Dean just shrugged, bit into a self-made hamburger. "Man, this is good! We should cook more often!" Sam just looked around in their bunker, the only thing that was left to them from the men of letters -although the hundreds of documents were useful for their work, the hunt.


End file.
